Thank you to all of my reader friends, for your wonderful support and well wishes, and today, “Friday The 13th”, I’m finally feeling betterer, and back to my sort of normal !! And so I’m posting this beautiful song, by another one of my of my favourite singer/songwriters, David Francey, click here. Wonder …..
Write to me, please
All I can do is quietly listen,
Listen, to your sweet voice,
Soothing my throbbing soul.
Write to my swollen eyes.
My life is becoming blurry,
And my reading’s in over-freeze.
Like the Bibles first Eve.
Write to my fallen voice.
Your’s always sounds like an angel.
Gently baptizing my ears,
And caressing my absent mind.
Write to my broken heart.
Mine’s still here to share,
Always so true and soft.
Like a morning’s virgin kiss.
Please write to me.
And set me free.
Ivor Steven.
Antony And The Johnsons, have long been a favourite of mine, and this song and lyrics, “Daylight And The Sun”, I think is an exceptional example of Antony Hegarty’s talents. And I suppose expresses my optimism about reaching tomorrow and discovering the rest of my journey over the rest of my time. https://youtu.be/t4kFpc3G7NM
What’s it like to be an orange Pumpkin-head.
Only black sockets for eyes instead.
And a cut-out smile full of seeds.
Queer ears made of rings and beads.
Inside, your brain is scooped out for pigs feed.
Leaving a dark void that doesn’t bleed.
On top you’re like a crinkled dome.
And your sore neck’s being speared home.
What’s it like to have a retina thread,
As a throbbing nerve-end tread.
With your cell fibres smashed to a pulp.
Knifing across your tender scalp.
Ebbing towards your aching neck.
And crushing you like a busted shipwreck.
Then a wooden spike pierces your fragile brain.
Where the horrid harpoon spreads your pain.
Photo Source: Amazing Halloween Jack O’Lantern pumpkins, carved by Ray Villafane -pinterest.com
Ivor Steven.
Hi, to all my dear friends, sorry, but I’ve been unwell and not quite able to comment on all your wonderful posts that have appeared in my reader. Sadly l shall not be able to catch up with them all, but I will be starting afresh today and will be writing some comments. Thanks to you all for your kind thoughts and words . Cheers. Ivor Steven. ♡♡
There’s a sharp pain
Inside my brain.
Harpooning my eye,
More than Ouch, I cry.
So hard to write,
Blurry is my sight.
All I do is peep,
And I must rest and sleep.
I’ve not lost the knack,
And I shall be back……….
Ivor Steven.
I’m at this basement bar, and the so-called music’s as loud as thunder.
So loud, I can’t even hear, speak, or begin to wonder.
My inner and outer ear-drums are echoing with the continual pounding.
All around the incessant rapp music’s booming and thumping.
The annoying repetitive sounds, drumming away inside my head.
However, somehow my beating heart is remembering my girl instead.
And my attempted idle chats, are overwhelmed by the piercing howling.
But who’s listening anyhow, to my drunken words and lecturing.
It’s probably the extra ales tonight, and I’m slowly drowning away.
Leaning against the bar, elbows entrenched, as if I’m here to stay.
Suddenly my bar-stools vibrating, is it the noise, or am I bodily shaking.
From my old and new nerve-ends being frightfully awakened.
My soulful tears, with all their leftover fears, again quietly trickling.
But there’s no-one to actually notice, within this buzzing cocoon, so resounding.
Ivor Steven.
You’re like an infant of mine, a distant cloud in the sky,
Always ever present, not able to cry.
You’re like a teen of mine, who somehow learnt to fly.
Always gliding high, and passing her by.
You’re like a child of mine, forever asking me why, why, why.
Always ever present, not able to cry.
You’re like an ex-girl of mine, her first words were a lie.
Always chasing the answer, by using her thighs.
You’re like a friend of mine, who left me high and dry.
Always ever present, not able to cry.
You’re like a Lady of mine, her only instinct was to try.
Always seeking final peace, as life went by.
Ivor Steven.
Artwork: Painted by self, using acrylics, 1967.
Loneliness, is watering your garden vegetables
And having no-one by your side to watch them grow
Loneliness, is playing your favourite sad song
And having no-one listening to you singing out of tune
Loneliness, is viewing your family photo album
And having no-one to share your private memories with
Loneliness, is being home sick, oh so very sick
And having no-one to tend to your aches and selfish moans
Loneliness, is awakening to the crisp morning dew
And having no-one to feel the warmth of your heart at sunrise
Loneliness, is walking a sandy beach until the tide comes in
And having no-one to hold when the ocean finally covers you
Loneliness, is lying upon your empty bed
And having no-one, having no-one here at all
Ivor Steven (c) 2017
Featured Photo: Courtesy of Neil Robinson, Geelong, 2017.
I’m travelling to the City by train.
Going to see a BK Opera performance again.
My niece, a leading singer in the show.
And these carriages are gently swaying to-and-fro.
I’m arriving an hour early.
Doing so, quite deliberately.
As the venue’s a classic olden Hotel.
A bar to relax in, and have a spell.
Drink a boutique ale or two.
And some friendly chatter too.
A young lady, Julia, I meet.
She’s polite and sweet.
We shake hands and talk warmly.
Happily saying to me, she loves poetry.
And I offer her an Opera ticket free.
But alas, she’s about to take her leave.
Upstairs I go, soon the show’s to begin.
I’m eager to hear the young Soprano’s sing.
The Opera’s an unusual Production.
A lover’s tragic telephone conversation.
The four separate settings are of a Lady’s Boudoir.
Our singers attire, glossy gowns and silky nightwear.
There’s soft lighting, satin cushions and screens.
And the Opera is divided into four scenes.
In four Hotel rooms, with a Soprano Artiste’.
Our audience standing during each piece.
I’m transfixed, as the soloist sings.
And we applaud from the small room’s wings.
A most intriguing and wondrous show I’ve seen.
An Opera called, La Voix Humaine.
Ivor Steven.
Many thanks to Colleen of “chatter master”, for her helpful advice and encouragement. I found this piece difficult to explain and write the words. And attached here, the link to the details of BK Opera’s production of La Voix Humaine. https://www.bkopera.com.au/la-voix-humaine-2017
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 